


You Still Got Wheels, Kid

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Genderswap, Minor Violence, Prostitution, Sexual Assault, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:59:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Kirk likely never intended to cross paths with Christina Pike. But now that he had, she wasn't going to let him go without a fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Still Got Wheels, Kid

**Author's Note:**

> Genderswap AU with female!Pike, written for the het_idcrack community on LiveJournal.

Chris still couldn't quite wrap her head around that late-night phone call. She couldn't quite comprehend it, even as she stepped on the gas to get to the local hospital. The desert wind whipped through her hair when she lowered the driver's side window of her Jeep, and she brushed the stray waves from her line of vision. She couldn't believe that Winona had actually trusted her with something like this—to name Chris as one of the emergency contacts on her kid's medical records. Hell, Chris couldn't remember the last time she'd seen Winnie. There was that awful memorial service for George, and then maybe a lunch here and a drink there back in San Francisco, but then Winona had packed up with her kids and moved to Iowa and that had been it.

So what was James Tiberius Kirk doing all the way out here in California? And landing himself in a hospital, no less?

When she walked into the emergency room, there were two young men sitting in the waiting room's old-fashioned plastic chairs. One slumped back in his seat, twin tufts of gauze shoved up his blood-rimmed nostrils. The other brandished a mean-looking shiner and a bruise all along the left side of his jaw. Neither of them spoke.

Chris squared her shoulders and pushed back her wind-tousled hair. "Which one of you is Kirk?" she asked in her command voice. The one with the black eye looked up, but his face bore no resemblance to either Winona or George at all.

"Who're you, his momma?" he asked with a sneer. Chris smirked.

"Be glad I'm not, or I'd take care of that good eye for you."

"I'm Kirk," the other one said, though he was quiet and sullen about it. And when he lifted his head—there, _there_ was James T. Kirk, with Winnie's sparkling eyes and George's classic good looks, his strong jaw and his full lips. A good dose of mischief in a handsome bottle, no doubt. Chris almost had to take a step back at the sight of such a beautiful boy, this echo of her past come to life.

"Well, then," she said, motioning for him to stand. "I'm your ride."

Kirk—Jim, Winona had called him Jim—nodded. He got to his feet without saying a word, but he snarled when the other man tried to grab his ass. Chris moved forward before she realized what she was doing, grabbing the asshole by his wrist and twisting. He hissed in pain. Chris narrowed her eyes, not letting him go.

"Watch it, sweetheart. I've got no qualms about adding to your hospital bill."

"Fuck, lady, I _paid_ for him."

Jim seemed to shy away, obviously not prepared to divulge that interesting bit of information. Chris blinked as she processed it and gave Jim a disapproving look before she remembered that he had a mother and, indeed, it wasn't her. Not that she judged anyone for doing what they had to do to get by, but...this was _Winona's_ son. Just that knowledge alone told Chris that Jim Kirk was better than that. She reached into her pocket for some credits, not even paying attention to the amount, and threw them at the john, curling her lip in disgust.

"There's your refund," she said. Then she ushered Jim out of there.

There was a bit of a limp in his step. Chris looked him over as discreetly as she could, as she led him to the Jeep. He'd obviously taken a beating from the man back in the waiting room—the john. She decided to leave it alone for now, simply keeping her distance as they walked across the lot outside the building. Once they got close, she reached out to touch Jim's arm and he flinched away; whether he was sore there or just didn't want to be touched, she didn't know.

"This your wreck?" he asked, looking over the Jeep. Chris nodded and unlocked the doors.

"It's a relic, I know. But she gets me where I need to go."

Jim didn't reply, still sullen and stone-faced as he climbed into the cramped rear of the Jeep instead of the passenger seat. Chris didn't know what to make of that, not really, but she didn't say a word about it, just got in the car, cracked the windows, and drove.

"It's a bit of a ways," she said, glancing at him in the rearview. He glanced up to acknowledge her. The shadows of the surrounding desert rendered his face all cheekbones and searing blue eyes. Chris pursed her lips, looking at him a moment too long. "I'm Pike, by the way. Chris. I knew your parents."

"I know."

Jim turned his gaze to the window, effectively ending the conversation. Chris exhaled and turned on the satellite radio. If she was going to spend forty-five minutes driving home, she sure as hell wasn't doing it in silence. She whistled along to Whitesnake, smiling to herself when Jim made a displeased face. Kids these days just didn't know good music. She reached forward to turn it up.

*

Chris stood in the living room and sipped from a glass of water as Jim shoveled scrambled eggs and toast into his mouth, going at the food as any ravenous nineteen-year-old kid would. It was the second glass of orange juice that worried her a bit; clearly, Jim was dehydrated and hadn't had anything healthy in his stomach in a long time. Chris leaned her shoulder against the wall and watched him eat.

"Better go easy on my rations," she commented, smiling. "We have to eat breakfast in the morning, too."

Jim put his fork down with a guilty look. "Sorry," he said, looking tense. Chris just waved a hand.

"It's fine, really. You were hungry. What kind of host would I be if I didn't feed you?"

"I guess so." Jim picked up his fork again, gathering the last of the eggs with some ketchup. "I didn't see a replicator in here."

Chris smiled and sat down at the table. Now that she was looking closely, she could see some bruising on Jim's biceps, peeking out under the hems of his sleeves.

"I'm old-fashioned," she explained. She drank her water slowly. "I like to cook, always have. Those eggs are an old family recipe—good to make if you've got the ingredients. Bell peppers, a little onion..."

"They're good." Jim nodded and looked at her warily, like a stray cat who didn't know how or why he should trust a stranger. "Thanks." He sounded reluctant to show any gratitude, but she took it.

"Don't mention it." Chris ran a hand through her hair and sighed, looking off for a moment. When she turned back to Jim, he seemed to be staring at her, just for a second—then his eyes darted away, back to his plate. Those eyes were disarming, to be sure. Just then, Chris got the urge to ask about Winona, but she shook it off. It wasn't the time, not this soon. "After you're done, I'll show you to your room," she said, pointing upstairs. "Then we can take a look at those bruises."

"Room?" Jim repeated. He looked up at the ceiling, where Chris had pointed. "You're giving me a room?"

"You don't think the hospital called me just so I could make you dinner, did you? Your last known residence is back in Riverside. I was the closest person on your emergency contacts list, all the way out here in the Mojave. I'm not sending you back out there on your own, Jimmy, I don't care how many—"

"Jim," he corrected her, his eyes narrowing. Chris paused to regain her thoughts.

"Jim," she said. She made sure to look him right in the eyes, even as she softened her voice. "Listen, Jim. I know the last thing you probably want is a lecture. But I knew your father and I sure as hell knew your mother, and they wanted better for you than this."

"Right." Jim threw his napkin down and got to his feet. "Thanks for the food."

" _Jim_." Chris exhaled and stood up as well, nearly eye to eye with him. Jim had a few inches on her, but she knew that when she held herself proud and tall, she was matchless. "Okay, I get it. You don't know me and you could care less about what I do or who I used to know." She pursed her lips, trying to keep a firm tone to her voice without pushing too far. "You need a bed; I have a bed. Stay the night and see how things look in the morning, all right?"

His lips turned downward as he nodded, but Chris still wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. At least Jim was smart enough to know when to concede a point. She'd taken a minute to look up his records on her PADD, though, and she suspected he was smart enough to do anything he wanted to do. Chris motioned for him to follow as she left the kitchen and headed to the staircase. When they got to the spare room, she opened its door and flipped on the lights. It wasn't much—a double bed with plain white sheets, a bookcase filled with old books, and a chest of drawers. Still, Jim looked vaguely impressed.

"I'm right across the hall if you need me. Bathroom's down by the end," Chris said. She smiled, looking at Jim's face, wondering when the last time was that he slept in a real bed. "Shower's got real water but if you hog all the hot stuff, I'll have to give you a piece of my mind. Any questions?"

Jim slowly turned his face to her and despite the cuts and bruises, he was absolutely gorgeous, a regular twenty-first century film star, just like his father—brooding and dangerous but also angelic, and it wasn't just the eyes. He tilted his head, seemingly sizing her up, and Chris watched the rise and fall of his strangely long eyelashes.

"Why're you even helping me out?" he asked quietly. It wasn't what Chris expected to hear. "I'm nobody to you."

Chris exhaled, keeping eye contact with Jim once more. "Maybe you're nobody to everyone out there. But you're somebody to me." She looked down at his blood-streaked shirt, motioning to it. "You gonna let me see those bruises? I've got a regenerator—not top of the line, but good enough."

"I don't need it," Jim said quickly, shaking his head. "But thanks." Then he disappeared into the room.

He did need it, really. Chris spied on him covertly from the open doorway of her room as he undressed, and even from afar, she could see discoloration all over his torso, some marks more fresh than others. He winced as he moved—a chink in the armor of that lean and solid teenage body. A body Chris didn't have any right to see, not like this. She moved away from the door, then, and prepared for bed, taking off her jeans and bra and switching into shorts and an old Starfleet-issued tank top, a style they didn't make anymore. After she brushed her teeth, Chris went to check on Jim. He was already passed out in the center of the bed, lying shirtless on top of the sheets with bare feet. Chris noted the footprint-shaped marks on his lower back and allowed herself a shaky breath just before she turned off the light, not wanting to see anymore. She left Jim's door open, as well as her own.

*

Chris looked in the rearview to make sure that Jim was sticking close. He'd spent the entirety of his first day in her house holed up in his makeshift room, emerging only to get fed. Today, he looked somewhat refreshed and on the mend, so she'd been willing to drive him back to the godforsaken bar he'd frequented two nights before, the one where he'd met that charming gentleman and left his motorcycle. The motorcycle was a good one, and Chris wondered if it was a family hand-me-down or if Jim had gotten it on his own somehow. She couldn't remember George ever owning a motorcycle like that.

By the time they got back to her house, the sun was boiling hot and Chris could feel her top sticking to her sweaty skin. She'd forgone the jacket today but Jim was still wearing his—he looked like he was starting to regret his attachment. Chris exited the Jeep and climbed out, pulling her hair into a ponytail, off the slick slope of her neck. She smiled to Jim as he got out, and he gave her a look which wasn't altogether unfriendly, so that was a start. Sweat was threatening to rain down his temples.

"How do you like the Mojave so far?" she asked. He shrugged, climbing off his cycle.

"It's hot."

"Tell me about it." Chris stepped closer and motioned to his hair. "Your hair's likely to get light from the sun."

Jim wiped his brow and raked his eyes over her slowly. Chris knew she looked a mess, her shirt clinging to her clammy skin and tendrils of hair matted to her cheeks, not much left to the imagination. Still, she ignored his roving gaze. He was a teenager and looking was what teenagers did best. She dealt with enough of them at the academy to know as much. Usually, they all had some sort of authority figure fantasy, fueled by porn holovids that somehow made the rounds on campus every year. Chris smirked, about to suggest Jim lift his eyes northward, when he spoke again.

"Your Jeep lets out a lot of exhaust," he said, nodding toward it. "I could take a look at that for you. If you want."

Chris blinked, surprised, and nodded. "Sure. I've been meaning to take it to a mechanic for a while. How much would you charge?"

Jim did smile, then—a fleeting, modest thing that actually made Chris' heart skip a beat. It was the first time she had seen it.

"It'd be thanks for the food and the roof over my head. No charge."

"All right. If you're sure, Jim. You don't have to, though." Chris risked a smile and then ushered him inside the house. "Come on, let's cool off. I made a pitcher of lemonade this morning."

"You _made_ lemonade?" Jim laughed as he followed after her, and that was something Chris wanted to experience again as well. His laugh was as bright as the desert sunshine itself, rivaling a few celestial bodies she'd seen in her day. "I didn't know anyone did that anymore."

Chris led him into the kitchen and got two glasses from the cabinet, opening the fridge. "I told you I'm a special breed," she joked. She filled both glasses with ice-cold lemonade and passed one to Jim.

"Yeah, you did."

She leaned her hip against the counter as Jim quickly guzzled the lemonade his gleaming throat moving slowly as he swallowed. Chris wasn't sure Jim realized how beautiful he was, but his mere presence transported her to another time, making her buzz all over with feelings she associated with a different life. She sipped from her own glass, then held it against her throat, shivering from the wet chill.

This was Winona's _son_. He was young enough to be Chris' son. But he was undoubtedly Winnie's boy, no doubt about that. Same stubbornness, same fire in the eyes. Chris suspected that Jim could be sweet like Winona was, too.

"What do you think is wrong with the Jeep?" she asked, forcing her thoughts elsewhere. Jim set down his empty glass and blinked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Could be anything. Could be the carburetor, bad fuel pipe... I'll check it out."

Chris took another swallow of lemonade. "You fix up that bike yourself?"

"Yeah, sort of salvaged her and rebuilt her." Jim shrugged, pouring himself a refill. "Took a few years, but then when I was done...it was worth it."

"Because you could leave," she said, looking at him steadily. She thought Jim might lash out at her or make to walk off again, but he just looked back at her and licked his lips.

"Basically," he said.

An unspoken flicker of understanding passed between them, as Chris looked into Jim's temporarily unguarded eyes. Suddenly, she wanted to know everything about what had gone so wrong in the Kirk household. Chris had looked up Winona's record before she'd gone to bed, and as far as anyone knew, Winona still lived in Riverside, where Jim was meant to be. But Chris didn't want to press; it wasn't her place, not anymore.

She drifted off into her own thoughts long enough for Jim to finish his second glass of lemonade, already starting on a third. Chris shook her head free of the past and wagged a finger at him.

"You drink it all, you make the next batch."

Jim looked up and smiled, nearly warm this time. "Think I can handle that," he said.

*

Chris called Jim's name as she stepped into the garage. She was starving for dinner. She didn't have much by the way of supplies after Hurricane Jim tore through her kitchen, and she didn't feel much like cooking for once, anyway. She was distracted by the sight of his bike, the complex machinery calling out to her. Chris had ridden a motorcycle when she was younger, too, just for a few precious years before the siren call of the stars became too much to ignore. Captaining a starship was nothing like steering the sleek curves of a bike, but it came with its own thrill.

"You like it, huh?"

She looked up with a start when she heard Jim's voice and gripped one of the handlebars at the sight of him. He wore only an undershirt and low-slung jeans, and his arms and hands were slick with grease from working on her Jeep all afternoon. There was a smudge of dirt along his collarbone, too, and one of his cheeks.

"For christ's sake, Jim, you'll get your cuts infected," Chris said. She swallowed. She brushed her hair back from her shoulders, collecting herself, and recalled what he'd said. "'Like' what?"

"The bike. You wanna ride it to the diner?"

"How did you know I was going to suggest the diner?" she asked, quirking a brow. Jim shrugged.

"I went for a snack earlier and the fridge was so empty, I could hear crickets."

Chris laughed, happy for some evidence that Jim had a sense of humor. She was unsure about his offer to ride the motorcycle, though. It was obviously his baby and as far as she knew, Jim didn't trust her as far as he could throw her.

"You sure?" she asked. "About the bike?"

Jim shrugged, smirking. "Yeah. You look like you can handle her."

"Go wash up, smart-ass," Chris said, hooking a thumb toward the door. Jim laughed and tossed her the keys before going back inside to do just that.

The bike really was a beauty, proof positive that Jim knew what he was doing. He was a smart kid, to be sure, not to mention good with his hands. Chris rolled her eyes at her own train of thought and climbed on the bike, turning over the engine and exhaling in pleasure as it roared to life and purred beneath her hands and thighs. She revved the engine once, then again, getting used to the feeling. When another warm body joined her on the seat, she nearly jumped in surprise, settling when she remembered it was just Jim.

"Gotta admit, you look pretty natural like this," he said. He wound his arms around her torso and smiled. "Should I hold on tight or what?"

Chris couldn't help a little grin. "Damn right you should, boy," she drawled.

It felt so good to burst out of the garage on that bike and speed her way across the desert, Jim pressed solid against her back, his hot breath fanning over her nape. The breeze and sand whipped against her face, stinging a bit, but she didn't mind. She could remember clearly the last time she'd found freedom on a motorcycle and not a thing about it had changed. Chris couldn't fault Jim for wanting to run if running felt like this.

"She's awesome, isn't she?" Jim yelled over the roar of the motor.

Chris laughed. "She's a tiger!" She turned her head to smile at him and blinked when she realized how close their mouths were. Jim leaned back a little, though, and simply returned the smile.

"Yeah, she is," he agreed.

Once they were at the diner, Chris got comfortable in her side of the booth and watched in amusement as Jim sucked down half of a vanilla milkshake before his burger and fries even arrived. He still wasn't much for conversation, but Chris supposed talking wasn't as important to a teenage boy as eating everything in sight. Chris sipped at her seltzer water and tucked into her turkey club, getting no further than two bites in when Jim spoke.

"So," he said, chewing on a mouthful of red meat. "You and my dad, huh?"

"Excuse me?" Chris said, lifting her brow. She put her sandwich down and wiped at her mouth with one of the flimsy napkins on the table. "Suddenly, you're full of questions?"

"Professional curiosity," Jim said, shrugging. "I still can't figure out why you'd give two shits about me, even if I am the son of someone who's famous for being dead. So, I'm thinking you and my dad maybe...?"

Chris frowned even as she laughed, mostly mirthless. "Jim, you don't know what you're talking about."

He arched a devious brow. "You and my _mom_?"

"Me and neither of them," Chris said tightly. She steeled her gaze in a way that made Jim visibly ease off. "They were my friends. Winona was my best friend."

"She's still alive," Jim offered casually. He shrugged and pushed a fry into a mound of ketchup on his plate. "If you were wondering. Goes off-planet a lot. Doubt she knows I'm here, let alone..." He trailed off as Chris watched him, turning his gaze to the window. He might have been looking at his bike parked outside, but Chris wasn't so sure. When he did turn back to her, he slumped back in his seat. "So, Aunt Chrissy, what happened? You never call, you never write..."

"Look, I had a job to do. I had a dream to see through to the end. Even if..." Now Chris was the one to trail off, looking down at her plate, unable to meet Jim's gaze. He had a way of cutting right through to the heart of things, just like his mother. And, like Winona, he was good at running away. "She wasn't the same after the Kelvin—not that anyone could blame her. But I always assumed she'd do right by you."

"Yeah, well." Jim drummed his fingers on the table, flicking his tongue inside his mouth to pry some food from between his teeth. "The road to hell, etcetera. I'll take the unmarked path, myself."

Chris couldn't help but let out a small laugh. She shook her head, pushing back her brown waves of hair, the shock of whitish-gray in the front that she tried to convince herself looked distinguished. She wondered how Winona looked now; the photo in her file was at least five years old, and they were getting to the age when five years often made a hell of a difference.

"Now, do I get to ask you a question or two?" she asked. Jim pretended to consider it, tilting his head and scrunching his nose, but then he just shook his head.

"Nah. The moment's not quite right, sorry."

Chris laughed again. She wanted to say something reassuring to Jim, something that would ease him and make him trust her, just a little. But what came out was, "You're just like your mom." Chris bit her lip after she said it, letting a few seconds pass before she dared to look at Jim again. The expression on his face wasn't exactly cold or resentful, but she didn't know him well enough to properly read it.

"I'll probably finish your Jeep tomorrow," he said. He pulled at the straw in his drink with his full lips, slurping up the rest of the thick beverage. Chris scratched at the back of her head and went back to her sandwich.

"That's great, Jim," she said. She left it at that.

*

Jim's injuries had stayed at the back of Chris' mind, but she found herself forgetting about it after a few days of Jim looking healthy. That changed when she heard a crashing noise in the garage, followed by a loud, pained expletive. Chris pulled her glasses off and set them down with her PADD on the table before running out to the garage. Jim was kneeling on the floor, clutching his lower back and hissing in pain.

"Damn it, Jim! What did you do?" she grouched.

"I just—I just bent wrong, okay? I'm fine, jeez..."

Jim waved Chris off and tried to stand. He cursed and turned pale when he did, the strain evident in his pinched features. Chris huffed, going over and helping him to his feet as carefully as she could.

"I'm the old one around here, remember? I should have the bad back, not you."

Jim laughed, despite the amount of pain he was in. "Didn't mean to steal your thunder, Christina," he muttered.

"Good to see your smart-ass attitude is unharmed," she countered. She slung an arm around him to prop him up. "Lean on me, okay? I can handle your weight."

"And here I thought you were a delicate flower."

"That'd be you, sweetheart. Come on."

Chris painstakingly helped Jim up the stairs to the closest bed, which happened to be her own. Once he was on his stomach, she went to fetch some muscle relaxant gel from her medicine cabinet. When she came back, she warmed some between her hands, kneeling on the mattress. Jim groaned faintly and looked back at her.

"You gonna give me a rubdown?" he asked, quirking a small smile. "Not gonna cost me extra, is it?"

"Pretty mouthy for someone in such a vulnerable position," Chris replied. "What, does pain deteriorate your brain cells or something, Jimmy?"

"Prob'ly," he murmured. Just the fact that he didn't correct her on his name told her just how hurt he was. Chris lifted up his shirt, winced at the lingering black and blue spread over his skin, and got to work.

Chris carefully massaged the gel into Jim's lower back until the painful tension in his muscles dissipated and he dozed off. He looked peaceful, more so than the first night she had glimpsed him sleeping. Chris dared to run her fingers through his thick, golden hair, even as she told herself not to get too attached. Jim was a loose cannon, after all, and there was no telling how long Chris would be able to provide shelter for him, before Starfleet came calling again. The new semester was only a few weeks away. Still, it was shy of a week since she'd brought Jim home, and she was already so used to his presence.

Chris sighed and kept idly stroking Jim's hair, glancing at the clock and realizing, with a yawn, just how late it was. She wasn't going to move Jim any time soon, so she grabbed her sleep clothes and moved for the door. She was halfway out when Jim stirred and lifted his head groggily.

"Where you goin'?" he murmured, peering at her. Chris smiled softly to him.

"I'll take your bed. You stay right where you are, got it?"

"Mmm, no, I'll go," Jim said. He moved to get up and Chris stepped forward, putting her hands out.

"No! Jesus, Jim, you need to be still for a while. Don't move, whatever you do."

He settled again and gave her a strange look before shutting his eyes again, muttering into her pillow. "Then stay."

Chris thought about arguing but if it would make Jim happy to see her stay, well...she couldn't just ignore that. She sighed heavily and turned away from him, pulling off her jeans and trading her usual tank top for a long T-shirt that came down to her knees. She managed to only be undressed for a second, barely enough time for Jim to see—not that he seemed to be looking, anyway. His eyes were still closed when she shut the lights and moved into the bed. Chris tried to keep a safe and respectful distance away from him, even though he was hogging most of the mattress with his lazy sprawl. She curled her arms around the spare pillow and shut her eyes.

When Chris opened her eyes halfway five hours later, it was still dark outside. The moonlight illuminated a sliver of Jim's face, which had somehow found its way into the crook of her neck, his hand on her waist.

She knew she ought to feel guilty for not pushing him away, but she didn't.

*

Chris owned a single holophoto of herself and Winona, which she kept on a shelf in the living room. They were at the academy, on the front lawn, with their arms wrapped around each other. Winona was in her graduation garb and Chris was in her cadet wear, still a couple of years away from graduating. George had taken the photo. Afterward, he and Winnie had gone off together to shake hands with superiors, say the rest of their goodbyes before they shuttled off into the unknown. Chris had watched them go with an ache in her heart, feeling awkward and uncomfortable in her uniform, completely unaware that in a short time, she'd be writing her dissertation about their fates. She only looked at the holophoto occasionally, usually too busy to notice it. Chris knew Jim had spotted it. He'd stopped jerkily as he crossed the length of the room on his way to the kitchen. He hadn't said a word, though, just kept walking to get his can of soda.

He'd taken to sleeping in her bed every night, drifting off as she checked on his healing wounds and bruises. Chris was still cursing herself for not taking care of those injuries before Jim had gone and hurt himself even worse, and the guilt kept her from ushering him to the guest bedroom; that, and the fact that she enjoyed having another person in her bed. No one had slept beside her since Number One, her last _significant_ significant other, and everyone else before that was a faded memory.

It was nice, but she could tell that Jim was getting restless. He'd long since fixed up Chris' Jeep and he was going through her book collection at the speed of lightning, soaking up all that information at a rate that amazed her. Chris knew she should say something, but Jim was generally friendly toward her now, and she could tell that beneath that bitter façade, he was grateful she'd taken him in. He'd even asked for a cooking lesson one night, which both surprised and delighted her. She wanted to keep him around just a little longer.

One night, two and a half weeks into Jim's stay, Chris was checking her saved comms for the last time as Jim brushed his teeth in the bathroom. A flagged message from Starfleet arrived in her inbox just before she was about to set her PADD aside. She adjusted her reading glasses and sat up straight in bed, opening the comm.

It was a direct order to report to the academy campus as early as next week—they were expecting more recruits than usual and her presence was mandatory. Chris scanned the text over and over and felt a sinking feeling in her chest. Usually, she was thrilled to get out of her stuffy little shack and head back to civilization, immerse herself in her work. But this time...

"You don't mind that I've been sleeping in here, do you?"

Chris looked up, startled, lifting her glasses onto the top of her head. She remembered a second too late to smile at Jim, who looked pretty cute in his baggy T-shirt and boxer shorts. "Course not, Jim. The desert air gets chilly at night."

"It's just that the other bed's kind of lumpy." Jim walked over to the bed and sat, giving her a curious look. "You okay? You look spooked."

"I'm fine," Chris said automatically. She turned off her PADD and placed it on the nightstand, along with her glasses, then smiled and patted his hand. "Just tired, I suppose."

Jim nodded and ran his fingers through his hair, as though he were nervous. "I, um. I read your dissertation," he finally said, quietly. Chris blinked, her eyes going wide.

"Jim," she whispered, not knowing what else to say.

"There was a copy in the spare room, wedged between these two books...Freud and some poetry book. Eliot, I think. 'The Wasteland.' It was good."

Chris smiled thinly. "Eliot or the dissertation?"

"Well, Eliot was good. The dissertation was...interesting." Jim's mouth twisted, though it looked more thoughtful than unhappy. "It was kind of inspiring, actually. I mean...if he weren't my dad, I might admire the guy, you know?" He laughed sadly, his shoulders slumped, and Chris thought she could feel the spider cracks inch their way across her heart. "Anyway, you really did him justice, so...thanks, I guess."

Chris swallowed and touched Jim's jaw gently, looking into his brilliant azure eyes. The comm from Starfleet flashed across her mind like a bolt of lightning, the demand for her presence back on campus, and she thought of Jim surrounded by all those open books, his ridiculously high test scores, the smell of grease inked into his skin as he convinced complex machinery to do his bidding, and just like that, she knew the right thing to do.

But then he kissed her. He kissed her and she breathed into his open mouth for a full second before drawing back, the heady taste of him already seared into her lips. She sucked in the stale air of the bedroom with a gasp.

"Jim, I—"

"Sorry," he said quickly, squinting. "I know it's weird...right? I mean, you and my..."

"It's—it's not that, Jim. I mean, it is, in a way, but it's..."

Chris pursed her lips and touched her thumb to Jim's bottom lip, finally healed from his scrape with the john. God, she couldn't _believe_ someone like Jim was living that kind of life—that he'd gotten himself into a situation so dire that he needed rescuing. But as brave as Kirks were, as brilliant and bright, they were stubborn, too, and their stars somehow burned out much too fast, much too soon.

She couldn't save Winona and she sure as hell couldn't save George. Chris leaned in and kissed Jim again, deeply this time, pulling him close with a hand clasped over the back of his neck. His mouth tasted of mint and she licked it from the corners, thrilled with his responsive little sigh and his eagerness to slide his tongue against hers. Chris was sure Jim wasn't a stranger to sex, but his kissing seemed unpracticed, and somehow, that just made her hungrier for him. She ran her fingers through the brush of his hair, tugged at his healed lower lip. She licked inside his mouth, every last centimeter, until she could feel the heat of Jim's erection pressing against her thigh. And god, it felt so good it ought to have been illegal.

Chris guided them both down to lie on the bed, careful not to strain Jim's back. He rested halfway on top of her, sliding a hand under her shirt to touch her breasts, and kissed her. She moaned lowly and delved into his boxers for that hot, hard length, which damn near jumped to life in her grip. She touched him gently at first, and then firmer as she began to stroke the shaft and tease the slippery head. Jim stuttered out a groan and Chris took his wrist with her free hand and pushed it down, until it was hovering over the damp cotton between her thighs. And, yeah, Jim was a smart one—he moved his fingers beneath the elastic band and soon they were between her folds, stroking her where she was already wet and getting wetter. Chris swallowed down a needy sound and dropped her thighs apart, twisting her hand on Jim's cock in a way that made him keen.

"Just this is good?" he whispered, panting lightly against her neck. Chris turned her head to kiss him again.

"Just this, Jim, just this," she affirmed.

Chris began to thrust down against Jim's fingers after a minute or so, taking her pleasure as he moved them in and out of her. He quickly followed her lead, pushing into the fist she made with her hand and attacking her mouth with messy, desperate kisses. Chris loved it, every blistering second—she felt gorgeous and light and _young_ and she wanted the feeling to last forever, wanted to relive every tight twist of his fingers inside her again and again until she dissolved into the air, wrecked with it. The pad of Jim's thumb found her swollen clit and Chris bucked, feeling helpless for a brief, scary yet wonderful moment. She was going to come and she wanted to moan his name but was afraid to at the same time, as if someone who knew better would hear and try to take it all away from her. But no, it was fine; she focused intensely on Jim's fingers until it became too much and then she pulsed through her orgasm, throwing her head back with a loud gasp. Jim trembled against her and kissed at her neck fiercely, as if asking something from her, and of course, he would have it. Her hand never stopped moving on his cock, only sped up and squeezed harder, stroking in a devastating rhythm that had him coming on her thigh with a cry of her name.

Chris took a few moments to regain her breath, lightly massaging the tops of Jim's shoulders. Then she cleaned her thigh with a corner of the rumpled bed sheet. He kissed the corner of her mouth, lazy and sweet, and Chris had a fleeting thought that she didn't deserve this.

"Promise you'll let me...soon?" Jim whispered, already drowsy. Chris couldn't be entirely sure of what he was asking but she had a pretty good idea. She kissed the tender skin of his prickly jaw.

"Maybe," she murmured, smiling. "I'd promise, but the moment's not quite right. Sorry."

Jim snorted before he laughed. When he nudged her side, she joined in.

*

 _"I thought we were friends, Chris. You expected me to be grateful for this? I'm stuck out here in god's country and you're capitalizing on my husband's death."_

 _"Not capitalizing, Winnie, jesus. Will you just listen to me?"_

 _"I'll bet you got top marks, too. How many commendations are you looking at, anyway? Three, four?"_

 _"Winona, please...let's not get into this again."_

 _"So glad I left that place. It's perfect for a hotshot like you, doing everything you can to lead the pack. But no one really cares, you know? No one sees him as a hero. They'll stick his name on the front door of a library wing, name a medal after him... Who's going to give me back what_ I _lost, goddamn it?"_

 _"I just...I did it for_ you _. To honor you and George...his memory."_

 _"Come off it, Chris. All you've ever cared about is your career. You'd step over my dead body to get ahead in Starfleet and you know it."_

 _Chris swallowed, queasy, tears in her eyes. A toddler started crying in the background and she watched as Winona fetched him with a grimace._

 _"I told you to play with your brother! Stop crying!"_

 _"Win...you know that's not true, just...hear me out. Let me explain."_

 _"You know what, Christina? I've got a memory right here; all the memory I need, thanks very much. So don't bother trying to help. In fact, don't bother at all. Kirk out."_

 _For a single second, Chris locked eyes with the little boy on the screen. Then it went blank._

*

Just like that, Chris remembered all too well why she never called and never wrote. She opened her eyes with a pained sound, sitting up abruptly. Beside her, Jim stirred, and then reached up to touch the rumpled waves of her hair.

"Wha's wrong?" he murmured, dropping his hand to clasp her wrist. "Nightmares?"

"You could say that."

Chris looked at him and tried to breathe normally again, to appease those worried blue eyes, the same ones she remembered seeing years and years ago. God, if Winona only knew what Chris had done now. It wasn't just the sex that weighed on Chris' mind; here she was, lying in an unmade bed with Jim Kirk, gearing up to ask him to come with her to Starfleet Academy next week. Winona had already lost one young man to the stars. Chris was willing to bet she didn't want to risk another.

Jim rubbed at her pulse point to try and soothe her, which was nice. He nuzzled her shoulder and she hazarded a smile.

"Tell you what," he said, lifting his head, eyes clear as day. "You can ask some questions now. A few."

"Oh, can I?" she asked, laughing. "You're a real piece of work, you know that, Kirk?"

"So I've been told." He leaned back on the pillow, arms folded behind his head. "You'd better hurry, Pike. One-time offer; get it while the getting's good."

Chris looked down at her hands in her lap before turning her head, taking in the sight of all that golden, exposed skin. "Why did you leave?" she asked quietly, trying to exercise a bit of bravery; she wasn't quite sure she wanted to hear the answer. Jim sighed and shrugged awkwardly, tipping his head in the opposite direction of her body.

"You know how it is. Your mom can't stand the sight of you, so she marries some asshole to try and feel better...doesn't work, of course, so she skips off to other planets and leaves you there with the fucker, who thinks he's got some god-given say in everything you do." He turned his gaze to the ceiling. "Then your brother skips town and leaves you alone and you get to thinking that you don't really have a choice. Even if it means you end up on the road without a prayer or a single credit to your name."

Chris nodded, her throat tight. "And where's Winnie?"

"Winnie?" Jim lifted his brow and gave a knowing little smirk. "She was gone when I took off. If she's been back since, she hasn't tried to find me."

"Jesus, Jim. I'm sorry," Chris whispered. It felt like she had thorns jammed in her neck. For years, she'd told herself that Winona was probably fine, that she was better off in Iowa with the sons she loved. She'd had every clue in the world that it wouldn't pan out well, but she wanted so much to believe for Winona's sake. For Jim's. Chris shifted beside him again and pressed her cool fingertips to his chest, felt the strong heartbeat there. "You know you're better than this...what you've been doing. Right? You _know_ it, Jim. You're a goddamn genius."

Jim froze up a little, then, and took her hand in his. "Gotta stop you right there," he murmured. "I know you think you already know everything about me, but you don't."

"You mean you like being the only genius-level repeat offender in the Midwest?" she asked, arching a brow. Jim shrugged at her.

"Maybe I love it."

He lifted her hand and kissed each of her fingertips, making her vision a little hazy. He was trying to weaken her resolve, but she wouldn't have any of it. Chris leaned away from him, trying to sound stern.

"Jim, I don't think—"

Her comm went off, then, buzzing away on her nightstand. Chris froze, just _knowing_ it was Starfleet, wondering why she hadn't replied to their earlier message. Chris kept staring at it, willing it to stop, though it seemed to refuse.

"Go ahead, answer it," Jim said. "I'll amuse myself." He reached over for her PADD.

"Jim, hold on," she said in protest, but it was already too late. Jim turned on the PADD and came face to face with her summons, still the first item on her screen since she'd put it away the night before.

"What's...?" Jim blinked as he read the message, his eyes bugging slightly. Then he looked at her in disbelief, as a wounded animal might look after getting hit by an old-fashioned semi. "Next week? You're going back to Starfleet _next week_? I knew you were gonna have to go some time but I didn't—I thought..."

"Jim." Chris sat up carefully, reaching for the PADD in his hands. "I just got that comm last night, all right? I didn't have a chance to tell you about it."

"Because you were too busy letting me kiss you, right? Jesus, Pike, you—you were just gonna take off, weren't you? Without telling me. Weren't you?"

"I wouldn't do that to you, Jim. You're important to me."

Jim laughed at a high pitch, slightly hysterical. Chris could see the glint of his sharp teeth as he scowled. "You've known me for a week, and now I'm _important_ to you? Why, 'cause I remind you of my folks?"

"Yes, of course you do, Jim, but—"

"Yeah? Great," he said, snarling. "Which one do I resemble more? The dead guy or the one you're still mooning over 'cause she never loved you?"

Pike felt her resolve snap, and she slapped Jim hard across his beautiful, insolent mouth, just to shut him up. Her hand was numb at first. Then Jim blinked hard, and her hand stung instead. She couldn't think of a single thing to say to make it better. Jim stared at her for a moment before he cursed and moved to leave. The PADD was still tightly gripped in his hands. Chris tried to stop him, reaching for his arm. He lifted the device, as if to use it as a shield, and the PADD's hard edge hit her in the jaw. She didn't realize she'd been struck until she was falling back, the taste of blood trickling into her mouth. Jim crawled off the bed, eyes wild, looking as though he wanted to reach out and touch her, fix her.

"Jesus, I—fuck, _fuck_ , I..."

He babbled only for a second before he dropped the PADD and grabbed his jeans and T-shirt, running out the door. Chris stumbled and tried to ignore the pain spreading throughout her face as she went after him, going as fast as she could down the stairs.

"Jim, don't you leave, don't you _dare_!" she yelled. Jim was already fully dressed and in his shoes, quick as a panther. That face that could tell a million stories, when he wanted it to, was contorted with betrayal and desperation. Chris faltered, worried that she would spook him and feeling more than a bit desperate herself. "Jim, damn it to hell, I was going to ask you to come with me!"

"I don't want to go anywhere with you, Pike."

"Oh, hell, Jim. So, your dad dies. You can settle for a less than ordinary life. A fucked-up life, getting beat up by strangers." She shook her head, trying to search his eyes with her own, looking for something of the Jim she'd come to know "Or do you feel that you were meant for something better?"

"So I can die, too? Or, better yet, be bitter like my mom? Or lonely like you?"

"You little shit," Chris breathed. She was trying not to let him get to her, but he knew exactly where to aim and how hard to hit. It was almost like he knew her; it was painful yet so achingly familiar. "You know damn well you were born for this, Jim. You belong in _Starfleet_." You belong with me.

Jim stiffened and shook his head, no longer interested. "Fuck you, Pike," he hissed. He looked feral as he tore through the length of her living room, going to retrieve his jacket. Then, he paused and pivoted sharply, grabbing the holophoto of Chris and his mother from the shelf and throwing it against the wall. It hit with a thud and the sizzle of damaged circuitry.

Chris heard herself cry out like she'd been burned by phaser fire. Whether or not Jim heard, it didn't stop him from running out the door. She went after him, but he was already on his bike, and the roar of the motor drowned out her voice as he went tearing off across the sand dunes. Chris punched the wall in a burst of anger, adding another throbbing pain to the list.

Soon enough, she couldn't hear Jim's motorcycle anymore. Chris sagged against the same wall she'd hit, sliding down to a crouch. Her comm began to buzz in the other room again and she shut her eyes tightly, as if she could block out the sound and all responsibilities that went along with it. She had to answer it eventually, though, and she moved to do just that, until the sight of the broken holophoto stopped her.

She spent the rest of the day slaving over the damned holo, trying to get the program working again. When it finally came back to life late that night, however, the data had been erased, the image lost forever. Chris tossed the holo behind her with a groan, burying her face in her hands and smothering a muttered curse of frustration. Her comm was still buzzing. She sat on the floor for a while longer, and then finally went to pick it up.

"Yeah, I'll be there," Chris groused when she answered. She shook her head and rubbed her swollen jaw. "You can quit comming."

*

Her first thought was to give him a day or two to cool off. Then she'd go looking for him, convince him to come back and set things right again. But hell, Jim Kirk was a resourceful kid—a resourceful man. If she gave him that much time, he'd likely be halfway back to Iowa by the time she got started. With that in mind, Chris pulled on some beat up clothes, gathered her hair into a messy ponytail and hit the road in her Jeep at half past one in the morning. It was a late hour, but she'd seen much later.

She couldn't sleep anyway. Jim permeated her thoughts so completely that the idea of relaxation was next to impossible. Chris drove fast, not quite knowing where she was going. Her chest felt tight, and the lingering taste in her mouth was both bitter like dried blood and sweet like Jim. She turned on the radio, stepped on the gas. Looked up at the stars and wondered where her old friends were among them.

Chris ended up bouncing between gas stations, diners and dive bars, asking people if they'd seen someone who fit Jim's description. Some people she knew and some were strangers. One or two did recall seeing Jim, but had no idea where he'd gone. Chris just nodded and got back in her Jeep every time to keep driving. Soon enough, she had a pretty good idea of the direction Jim was taking. She was counting on the fact that he would have to keep making pit stops, either to eat or piss or try to make a quick buck. Chris hoped he wouldn't go back to tricking, but she knew Jim likely didn't have any credits on him after that last tryst went awry. She cursed herself for not giving him anything for the Jeep repair.

It was getting on four in the morning when she stopped at the next bar along the road, now well into the Nevada region. Chris felt bone-weary as she climbed out of her Jeep and made her way past all the drunken yokels out front, toward the entrance. She got a few whistles and catcalls as she walked, which she pretended not to notice. The stench of booze hit her in the face as soon as she went through the door, and she squinted as she scanned the crowd for Jim. A young man behind the bar lifted his head as she approached, cleaning empty glasses.

"Sorry ma'am, last call was twenty minutes ago," he said. Chris dug out her credentials, flashing them.

"I prefer 'Captain.'" She quirked a brow, rather enjoying the way that made the kid squirm. "Have you seen a blue-eyed, blond-haired kid around here? Around six feet tall, leather jacket, T-shirt and jeans?"

"Yeah," he said. Chris' heart stuttered in her chest. "He went out back with two guys."

"You're kidding," she said flatly. She shook her head in dismay as she moved away from the bar; her work was never done. "Thanks."

The bartender scurried over to the side of the bar, blocking her path. "Hey, you can't go back there. It's for, uh...special customers."

"Well, my dad always told me I was special, so I guess I qualify."

Chris shoved her way past the kid to the "special" back exit and as soon as she could feel the cool early morning air on her face again, she saw Jim, standing on the receiving end of a rather spectacular right hook, falling ungracefully to the dirt. He was bruised and bleeding, his T-shirt torn and jacket discarded somewhere. One of the two men standing above him kicked him while he was down, causing him to grunt. Chris felt a pang of agony watching as all her caretaking was swiftly undone. When one of them went for Jim's belt buckle, a growl rose in her throat.

"Get _off_ ," Jim spat out, trying to twist away from the one manhandling him. "Deal's a deal, just...gimme what you owe me, fuckin'..."

"Change of heart, boy," the larger one said, a real bruiser, pulling Jim to his knees. "That was just for starters. Now's the main course."

Chris stepped forward, then, placing two fingers between her lips and whistling loudly. All three men looked up at her in surprise, and Chris could have sworn she saw a hint of gratitude in Jim's bloodshot eyes.

"Jesus, Pike," he murmured, licking his bloodied lips. "You can whistle really loud, you know that?"

"Who the fuck are you?" the man holding Jim barked. He let go and Jim went tumbling down, groaning.

"Captain Christina Pike, Starfleet Command." She didn't bother showing off her credentials this time, simply pulled off her own jacket and tossed it aside. "Two on one's not much of a fair fight, gentlemen," she said calmly. "Let him go and we all walk away from this."

"Starfleet's in the business of protecting professional cocksuckers, now?"

They both laughed and Chris stiffened, just _waiting_ for one of them to come at her. She wasn't much for violence, but if anyone deserved to get dropkicked, it was these two. She narrowed her blue-gray eyes and smirked.

"That would imply he could find something to suck, boys."

And, oh, they didn't much like that. The smaller one barked out some requisite filth and stepped forward, raising his fist as if to hit her hard, but Chris had agility on her side; she dodged him easily and grabbed his wrist, using her leverage to flip him onto his back. Dirt rose up around him when he fell. Chris looked up at the bruiser, as if to dare him to try and hit her. He looked wary but then he seemed to convince himself, reaching out to grab her. Chris braced herself, but then Jim reared up out of nowhere and knocked the bruiser out cold with a sucker punch.

"Shit," Jim spat, shaking his hand. "That was like hitting a titanium wall."

"Remind me to teach you how to punch," she said. He offered her a fleeting smile before his face shifted. "Chris, watch it!" he yelled.

And, god, it'd been a long time since she'd been in a bar brawl, so she wasn't expecting a _chair_ to come hurtling at her, of all things. Chris dropped down to the ground as soon as she saw the change in Jim's eyes, out of instinct, and the chair narrowly missed her head, flying a few feet into the distance with the force of the smaller man's swing. Chris kicked out behind her and felled him swiftly. The impact of his skull against a stray wooden beam on the ground saved her the trouble of introducing his face to the reinforced toe of her boot.

"Grab your jacket," she ordered, and got hers while Jim darted to retrieve his. She took Jim by the wrist and ran like hell back to the Jeep, jumping in with him and peeling away from the bar. Jim stared out the rearview at the building, getting smaller in the distance, and then looked down at the bomber in his lap.

"They ripped it," he said. Chris glanced over and saw the large tear in the worn leather, then the moisture rimming Jim's eyes. "It was Dad's," he murmured.

Chris bit her lip and swerved to make the next right turn she saw, pulling them off the main road. Without even thinking, she reached out and wrapped her arms around Jim, pulling him toward her. She was a little shocked at how easily he went. He molded himself to her chest and buried his face against her shoulder, shuddering with a pent-up sob. It was dead quiet all around them, save for the occasional passing car. In the very far distance, the sun was just making its presence known by the horizon, prickling purple and pink against the inky black that reminded her of space itself. She made up her mind right then and there that she was taking him out there, come hell or high water. Jim had been right; he wasn't the same as his parents, not in all ways. Their choices had brought Jim here, but they were gone now, out of his life. Jim deserved more than the short list of options he'd been given. He deserved his own chance to shine.

Chris bunched her fingers in his dirty hair, pressed her lips to the gritty surface of his scalp. She shut her eyes against the sun and didn't let go of Jim for anything.

*

She'd meant to take a shower before she fell asleep, she really did. But the bed had just looked so inviting with its pillows and sheets and...pillows.

They'd gotten back around seven. Chris managed to keep her eyes open long enough to check out the nastier cuts and bruises Jim had accumulated, regenerating some skin here and there and cleaning the mess from his face. Jim was exhausted; he barely flinched at any of it, not even the alcohol swabs. He murmured his thanks when Chris was done and went to strip off his dirty clothes. She lay down on her bed, determined to just rest her eyes for five minutes before she took a long, hot shower.

When she lifted her eyelids again, it was hot as blazes in the room and the direction of the sunlight coming in through the windows told her it was mid-afternoon. Jim was passed out beside her, his arm wrapped around her middle protectively. Chris smiled and carefully extricated herself from his grasp so that she wouldn't wake him. Jim probably felt he could trust her now, and she breathed a little easier knowing that. Really, if you couldn't trust a bar-brawl partner, then who could you trust? Chris felt even grimier than she did last night, and a shower was definitely in order. When she was done, she'd wake Jim up and take him out for a late lunch, maybe. He was going to be starving, she already knew as much, and she didn't much feel like preparing a seven-course meal.

Chris had never been more thankful that she owned a water shower. She walked into the bathroom and turned on the taps, exhaling gratefully when the water came pouring out nice and hot. Her clothes tried to stick to her skin as she pulled them off, dumping them on the floor. Chris stepped under the spray and let out a small moan of relief, slicking her hair back from her face. Jim was probably going to be pouty when she used up all the hot water but she couldn't be bothered to care. He'd live.

She always shampooed first, out of ritual, and she was just about done rinsing the foam from her hair when she heard a noise that made her jump. Chris opened the shower door halfway before she remembered that it was likely just Jim, making noise in the other room, foggy as he usually was upon waking. But he surprised her, standing right there in the bathroom, one hand propped on the sink as he stared at her, his blue eyes bright and powerful even behind a haze of shower steam. Chris stared back and swallowed, squashing the urge to cover herself up. She felt devoured by his gaze. He even licked his lips as he seemed to memorize the lines of her naked body.

And damned if Chris didn't like it.

"Get in here," she said firmly, though her heart was jack hammering in her chest. Jim didn't have to be told twice; he shucked off his boxer shorts and stepped in. The water hit his back and made his golden skin shine. Even with the lingering clusters of bruises, he was gorgeous, and Chris couldn't keep her hands off him for a second longer. She clasped his face with both hands and pulled him in for a hard kiss, giving it all she had, all of her. Jim gave it right back, sucking her bottom lip into his mouth as he pushed her back against the tiles, his thumbs on her nipples and his cock pressed to the crease of her hip and thigh. Chris couldn't quite remember ever being turned so much and so quickly.

"Jim," she sighed, licking across his palate, squeezing his ass with both hands. "Jim..."

"Chris," he moaned in return. Jim squeezed her breast with one hand, skating the fingertips of his other hand between her thighs. She bit and nuzzled his mouth until he pulled away to nip along her neck. Their bodies were nearly molded together, but neither of them moved away. They kept touching and exploring until they were all twisted up in each other. She reached down to slide her slick palm across his balls, squeezing the base of his cock, and Jim groaned right into her ear, a sound that went straight to her cunt. He dropped his fingers down between her legs to rub her clit teasingly, as if he knew she needed it. Chris gasped as she tried to form a coherent thought.

"Condoms...in the drawer, beneath the—beneath the sink," she managed to say.

Jim nodded and pulled away long enough to open the shower door and make a grab for the drawer in question. Chris licked at droplets of water along his jaw as he opened up the packet with trembling hands—and, god, she loved how excited he was, made her ache even more—and stroked his cock slowly with teasing twists of her fingers, getting him good and ready. She let him go when he bucked, giving him a moment to roll the condom on. Then she kissed him again, hooking a leg around him and pulling him flush against her. Jim's cock grazed back and forth over her clit and she had to break the kiss to cry out, it was so good.

"Chris," Jim whispered. He pressed their foreheads together, his eyes darting between her face and the sight of his cock begging entrance between her legs. "Let me in." He looked up at her with darkened eyes, wide and pleading, totally in earnest.

"You first," she murmured. She laughed breathlessly and so did he, rolling his eyes.

"Kinda demanding, aren't you, Chris?"

"I think you like it."

Jim just grinned, helping to hoist her up against the tiles so she could properly wrap herself around him. Then he slid home, so fucking slowly, and Chris just couldn't keep from arching against him. He was big but he felt perfect, exactly what she needed. Once he was buried to the hilt, she kissed him hard, her fingers tight in his damp hair. Despite everything, Jim was a gentleman in his own right; he waited for Chris to tell him when to move, and as he did, she clung tighter, moaning against his cheek.

"Fuck, Jim, _yes_ , that's so good..."

"S'good, Chris?" he slurred, licking that sinful mouth of his as he looked at her. "You like that?"

"Yes, baby...you fuck me good and hard, you hear?"

"Fuck, yes."

Jim slid his hands to Chris' hips and began thrusting in earnest, taking advantage of the bow of her neck to cover it in suckling kisses, grazing his teeth against her collarbone. Chris shuddered and moved along with him, fucking herself on his length as best as she could, tilting her hips forward. A certain angle hit a sweet spot just right and she grabbed his shoulders as she clenched around him, her short fingernails digging into his skin. Jim hissed against her throat and murmured something like _wanna make you do that again_ and then his hand was between her legs as well, tapping out a devilish beat against her clit as he fucked her, and Chris nearly lost her breath.

Their rhythm grew smoother, faster, and Chris had one hand on Jim's backside and another buried in his hair as she rolled her hips desperately. She was so close and she could practically feel his cock throbbing inside her, so close to letting go. It was the look on his face that did it, though: focused yet uncontrolled, water from the spray mixing with his sweat, his tawny lashes lifting to reveal perfectly clear—and, for once, untroubled—blue eyes as he looked at her. Chris' orgasm hit her swiftly and had her clinging to him as she throbbed around his length uncontrollably, her breath coming in heavy gasps. Jim let out a little whimper as he tried to maintain his thrusts, but soon his grip on her thighs grew harder and he jerked with a loud moan that echoed off the bathroom tiles, ringing in Chris' ears.

It was a slow comedown, punctuated by lingering kisses and roaming fingertips, until Jim slowly pulled out and helped Chris back to her feet. She leaned against the wall and watched as he idly sucked at the fingertips that had teased her previously, feeling another wave of heat wash over her. The water started to cool as he slipped off his condom and tied it. Chris stared down at those nimble hands and thought she could envision them working at the helm of a starship—that was, if Jim wanted to be a helmsman. Maybe he'd like to be a science officer. His aptitude tests were good enough to make him a captain.

Jim caught her looking at him and smiled, almost shy, as he opened the shower door to dispose of the condom. "I'm always safe, by the way. If you were wondering. Sort of a personal rule of mine, though it gets me into trouble sometimes." He shrugged. "As you've seen."

"Oh." Chris blinked and stepped forward to kiss him. "That's all over now anyway."

"Guess that means you wanna talk," Jim said, pulling her back under the cool spray. It felt good on her flushed skin.

"Probably. But I won't force you to do anything you don't want to."

"Not force, no," Jim replied. He rolled his eyes and smiled. "Just nag and nag until you bully me into it."

Chris shot him a severe look. "Starfleet captains don't _nag_. They get people to see things their way by making reasonable, cogent arguments that always turn out to be one-hundred percent right. Now, doesn't that sound like fun to you, Jim?"

Jim laughed and picked up the soap. "Yeah, kinda does."

*

"All right, Jim. I had to pull some strings but I've got someone holding a space for you in the medical dorms until we get there. Your roommate's some grumpy bastard named McCoy...apparently showed up to campus half-cocked on bourbon and clinging to the door of the shuttle that got him there. I figured he sounds like your type."

Chris looked up from her PADD, smiling at Jim from her stance in the main bedroom's doorway. He looked back at her warily, sitting cross-legged on the bed.

"Great, so I'm gonna be stuck with all the stuffy medical cadets, living with some alcoholic weirdo."

"He's a genius, from what I hear. Kind of like you, when you're not picking fights in bars and trying to lower your brain-cell count." She shoved her PADD into her bag and quirked a brow. "You ready, kiddo?"

Jim nodded, pushing himself up from the bed. He grabbed his little duffel bag, which as far as Chris knew, only held a single change of clothes and a toothbrush. He didn't need much; once a new cadet got to Starfleet Academy, he was equipped with as much Starfleet-issued clothing as he could carry, and then some.

"You sure my bike will be safe?"

"Perfectly safe. She'll be right here in the garage, waiting for you, whenever you need her. There's plenty of public transportation and shuttles around San Francisco. You won't even miss her."

"Says you," Jim said, looking skeptical. Still, he moved to follow her out of the room and down the stairs.

Chris waited patiently outside, leaning against the driver's side of the Jeep as Jim said his very tender, private goodbyes to his motorcycle. She could understand it, really; that bike had been witness to Jim's entire journey, had led him right to this place, this moment. It had brought him to Chris and now she was taking over in its place. He didn't look too heartbroken when he emerged from the garage, at least, but Chris couldn't be sure.

"Last chance to change your mind," she said, watching him.

Jim squinted in the hot desert sun and smiled as he opened up the back door of the Jeep and tossed his bag inside, next to the cooler of drinks and snacks. Then he leaned against the door as well, tilting his head.

"First you nag me to go and now you're nagging me to stay?"

"What'd I say about calling me a nag?" She gripped his chin in her hand, pulling him in for a quick kiss. "Would you like it better if I dared you to enlist? Would that satisfy your testosterone-happy ass?"

"It might," Jim said. He gave her a charismatic grin that was bound to one day bring whole races and populations of distant planets to their knees. "Or you could say more about my ass; that'd be just as good."

Chris reached out to smack said ass lightly. "Get in the car," she ordered. Jim saluted.

"Aye, Captain."

"See, you're learning."

They both got into the Jeep. It felt good to see Jim in the passenger seat, unlike the first time she'd driven him somewhere. He even remembered to buckle up. Chris gave her house one last glance before she pulled out, setting her navigation system for San Francisco. Jim started playing around with the satellite radio, and she decided not to argue with the terrible station he chose.

"You'll like it at the academy," she said, glancing over at him as she drove. They'd spoken the other night about their roles once they got there and Jim enlisted; she wasn't likely to see him too often, given that he'd be a busy cadet and she was a decorated officer. He'd probably find plenty of pretty fellow cadets to occupy his time anyway. Chris pursed her lips as she looked out the windshield. "Study hard and don't get too distracted, and you could be an officer in four years."

"Four years?" Jim repeated, giving her his trademark cocky smile. He put a hand on her thigh and squeezed. "I'll do it in three."

Chris laughed. "You'd better."

"Plus, I'm looking forward to seeing how well you fill out one of those Starfleet uniforms," Jim quipped. Chris just grinned and shook her head.

"Oh, you have _no_ idea."

She rolled the windows all the way down, letting the warm breeze into the Jeep. Sand dunes stretched for miles around them, seemingly endless, and Chris stepped harder on the gas, eager to get Jim to his new life. And every time Jim laughed beside her, she heard it as the sound of her own life finally kick-starting into gear.


End file.
